Transactions with Beauty
by likeiloveyouforpussies
Summary: "Lovers find secret places inside this violent world where they make transactions with beauty." (Rumi) A story about what will happen to some of the inmates, particularly Piper and Alex, after the fifth season's cliffhanger, and about their efforts to be reunited.
1. Stop motion

People said that where there's life there's hope, but to her that was kind of a stretch. It was more accurate to say that where there's life there's a chance. Although sometimes, that chance was buried under so much crap that you couldn't always see it. Time, repetition, the slow roll of the everyday could bog down anything. Anyone. Still, you were supposed to keep it together, as if losing it wasn't the most natural reaction. The problem with losing your shit was that, statistically, it was likely to happen in the dormitory you shared with five other women.

Alex turned the page and rested the book on her bent knee. She was sitting up, with the pillow sandwiched between her back and the wall, doing her best to zone out the perpetual continuum of noises that people who are crammed into tight spaces make without even realizing.

At first, Alex had been glad to be assigned a top bunk. Space was, after all, the one thing more valuable than any contraband item, and it provided a certain distance -however limited- from the Triangle of Death that comprised her roommates, the grimy floor, and the single toilet. That hard, lumpy bed was now her island, her refuge. She believed it would offer her a decent vantage point in case one of those idiots decided to escalate and turn even more asinine. After all, Alex spent most of her time curled up there, whether sitting up or lying down.

The attack, however, came from the one person she couldn't see. The moment Alex stretched and let her leg dangle from the edge of the bed, Johnson -the woman who slept directly underneath her-, grabbed it and pulled on it like some sort of psychotic Rapunzel. Crying out in sudden pain and fear, Alex sent her book flying and plunged her body forward, discarding the instinct to resist. With the visual image of her leg being used as a lever and with the terrible sound of her own bones snapping too fresh in her mind, she allowed herself to be dragged downwards.

There was an instant of emptiness in the pit of her stomach as her body slid from the bunk into midair. Voices and movements slowed down like a dramatic scene in a bad movie, and everything appeared to have a distressing, underwater quality. She fell on top of Johnson's considerably more ample body and tried to push her away with her free foot, but she was koala-hugging her right leg so strongly that it was impossible to make her budge.

"What the fuck do you want?" Alex yelled, her foot firmly planted on Johnson's forehead to no effect. For the first time, she found she missed the sturdier boots they were issued back at the regular Litchfield camp, instead of those lousy slippers.

The others had started making a ruckus as soon as she dropped from the bed: spurring them on, placing bets, or simply guffawing. One of the voices was in fact urging her to hit Johnson with her cast, but Alex just held on to one of the metal bars of the bunk bed for dear life. Despite being absolutely terrified, she was aware of the absurdity of their struggle. There was a howling woman affixed to her leg like a leech, and refused to let go, but wouldn't tell her why. At least she wasn't trying to bite her.

"You want me to do it?"

Alex had failed to notice that another of her roommates -a girl called Rossi- had approached them and was now crouched over Johnson. She repeated the question, her muscular arm already drawn back and ready to deliver a killer punch to the kidney area, and Alex actually allowed herself a couple of seconds to think about it. She had only discarded the dark-blue uniform of the newbies very recently, she didn't know any of those people in the slightest, and had no idea about the ins and outs and power dynamics of the place.

"No, thanks." It was better to not owe anybody any favors. Besides, if forced to pick between coarse coercion and abject violence, she preferred the former. "I got it."

The girl pulled a face before retrieving her arm and returning to her bunk. "Alright. But it looks like she's got you."

Not daring to let go of the metal bar, Alex peered at the large inmate that was atop her leg. It took her a moment to acknowledge that everyone had shut up, even Johnson. The others had lost interest, it seemed, since it wasn't a proper fight, and Alex herself calmed down enough to detach her foot from Johnson's forehead, which was now creased with lines and diamond shapes from the sole of her slipper. The woman was no longer being aggressive – not even sexually aggressive. She wasn't humping her leg or anything, just hugging it with her eyes closed. For whatever reason.

There were plenty of things Alex would rather be doing instead of seeking to negotiate her way out of a wrench, but here she was. Now that she thought about it, she still hadn't heard Johnson speak, and she hadn't as much as glanced at Alex since her arrival, so one could only conclude that she must have done something to upset her.

"Hey," Alex called out to her, sternly, but not above the volume of a whisper, so as not to distress her again. "Johnson."

There was no reaction. Alex sighed and turned to the others. "Hey. What's her name?"

Rossi shrugged. "The hell if I know. She never says nothing. She just freaks out every now and then."

She had neither the patience nor the energy to deal with what was essentially a 200 pound infant, but she had to figure something out. Was it plausible that the unexpected appearance from her leg from above had been enough to cause Johnson to hulk out?

"I'm Alex. What's your name?" Nothing. "Can you look at me?" Johnson blinked and rolled her eyes towards Alex, who forced herself to smile a little. "That's good. Listen, I didn't mean to startle you. Can we get up now, before someone sees us?" Or before they caught some incurable infection from the floor.

Something in her words or in her tone did the trick, because the woman liberated her leg, albeit very slowly, as if they were a pair of velcro strips. Breathing out an almost inaudible "Thank fuck" of relief, Alex stood up, finally let go of the metal bar, and straightened her glasses. With a grimace, she noted that her whole leg was sweaty. She then cautiously stepped closer to Johnson and helped her to her feet with her good hand.

"So we're cool?" It was more of an affirmation than a question.

The woman nodded, which had to be a big step or whatever, but all Alex wanted was to be done with the entire incident and be left alone. She found her book, clambered the metal ladder to her bunk, and sat on her previous spot, making sure to cross her legs. It was imperative not to get in trouble so as not to have her already sparse rights annulled. Not before she'd figured out what to do.

Her fingers stroked the uneven surface of the cast plaster, unable to concentrate on her reading once she started remembering.

* * *

The cavalry announced its presence with a gunshot right outside the door, and they prepared for its imminent entrance the only way they could: by standing in the center of the pool in plain view and not holding anything suspicious, just one another's hands. They were expecting it, and yet they all gasped when the door burst open. The brief flash of fire pushed them like a gust of wind, and they took a step back like in a synchronized dance.

A cloud of smoke and particles -mixed with fragments of cardboard and debris- blew over them and enveloped them. After a beat, they all began shouting out their surrender, but their voices were swiftly swallowed up by the invaders' loud stomping and incomprehensible commands, which the weird acoustics of the pool turned into cartoonish. Several dashing columns of light started cutting through the gloom, and the knowledge that there were not only flashlights -but also guns- coming towards them from the other end of the room almost made Alex lose her mind.

The atmosphere became dense with dust and din, and dark figures all around: some knocking things over, some raising their arms, others dropping to their knees, and two or three running past her. She wasn't sure about who was who in that imbroglio, with the exception of Piper, who was squeezing her hand.

"Alex." Piper said, or screamed, perhaps for the first time. Or perhaps she'd called her name more than once.

Alex yanked her hand out of Piper's grip and instead surrounded her waist with her good arm. She was scared of getting down on the floor because she really didn't want to get trampled on, but as soon as she sensed Piper's body lowering itself, she followed its movement until they were both kneeling.

"I'm here." She pressed her face close to Piper's ear, hoping to be heard.

Someone bumped against her left shoulder, sending searing waves of pain down her arm, and she cried out in hurt, tearful surprise. They were almost leveled with the floor now. Maybe the whole thing hadn't taken more than half a minute, but they were like clay figures stuck inside a stop motion film in the making. It felt like it was taking forever.

There were lots of stamping feet too close to her ears. In a panic, she tried to cover Piper's head with her arm at the same time that Piper was attempting a protective embrace. But then, her world sped up again, with the icy clarity of shots being fired around them. Were they really shooting at them? She felt -more than heard- Piper's horrified gasp and, before she could do anything about it, her throat appeared to close up. It was more than not being able to breathe, it was as if the air had turned into fire; she couldn't take it in or let it out, and coughing did nothing to soothe her. Her eyes were smarting so badly that she thought they would liquify and flow out together with her tears.

Opening and closing her mouth like a choking fish, Alex managed to turn to look at Piper, who was frantically sputtering and wheezing. The commotion had quieted down a great deal thanks to what she gathered were pepper bullets, not real ones, and she could now hear several other people coughing in their vicinity.

One of the prostrate inmates scrambled to her feet and bolted, heading to the opposite end of the pool – with surprising agility, taking into account that it was probably Frieda. The fact that she was still wearing that helmet, with the visor down, had surely helped her counteract the effects of the pepper rain, but she was promptly deterred with a swing of one of those extensible batons.

Just as Alex was managing to catch her breath again, they grabbed Piper and pulled her arms back, binding her wrists together with plastic handcuffs that looked like zip ties. She wanted to tell her not to resist and that it was going to be fine, even though she didn't quite believe it. But then someone seized her to do the same thing to her, and she howled in pain as soon as they tried to move the arm in the sling.

"Stop it! She's hurt! Her arm's broken!" Piper cried, thrashing despite her restraints.

"Piper, stay still and shut up." Alex hissed quickly. She wasn't being snappish to be mean, but because an alarm had gone off inside her head. The main thing was to get out of there in one piece, or at least not in any worst shape than they already were.

In the clearest, calmest tone Alex could muster, she stated that she had a broken arm, and discarded the makeshift sling and splint as ceremoniously as possible, as if she was unveiling a relic. However much it hurt, she needed to prove that she was harmless and wasn't hiding anything.

"Take this one outside." the person behind her ordered, hauling her to her feet and shoving her into the hands of another officer. There was also something about clearing that fucking dump, but she was concentrating on Piper's distraught face, hoping to convey that she should play against type and try not to do any shady shit.

"Wait..." Piper said, softly, eyeing the officer behind her like a character in a fairytale who doesn't wish to disturb a sleeping dragon.

"Piper, I swear to God..." She cradled her left arm against her chest and closed her eyes for a second.

An iron grip on the back of her neck steered her away and out of the swimming pool, without letting her finish, although she was uncertain of what she would have said. Perhaps something similar to "Please shut the fuck up and let's survive this." On the way out, Alex turned around several times to look at the array of inmates from that new and improved viewpoint. They were either face-down or kneeling on the floor, with their hands tied behind their backs. Some -like Nicky- looked back at her, while others didn't, or couldn't. Meanwhile, the pitch-black officers with reflective face masks looked like ghostly robots.

She zoned in on Piper, whose face, like everyone's, was practically obscured by shadows, and yet her eyes glistened. This felt like a much more extreme version of saying goodbye at the airport: hanging on to the last instants in which you could still see that person, trying to communicate with them wordlessly by infusing your gaze with as much emotion as possible. With the added bonus of being sucked into a tunnel of uncertainty.


	2. Moniker

The annoying metallic squawk which commanded them into movement went off, and it was like a pervasive smell, invading everything, affecting everyone. Alex put on her glasses and sat up, reminding herself that she was not to poke any of her limbs out of the bed without warning. Her roommates started forming a line to exit the dormitory and, only when she saw Johnson following suit did she climb down. And that was when she noticed that there was something on her left arm. Something green.

Scrawled on her cast, in what appeared to be green Sharpie, was the word "Mollie". The name "Mollie", in bold, but cutesy handwriting. The letter "i" was dotted with a little heart and everything, Alex noted, and it was such a ridiculous thing that it didn't even freak her out properly. Astonished, she looked up to find that Johnson was now facing her, albeit with a blank expression on her face. Alex tapped her finger on the green letters and then pointed at Johnson with raised eyebrows, choosing to ask the question silently. She really didn't want Rossi and the others listening in. However insane, this was her personal business. They already were forced to witness one another doing absolutely everything during most of the day.

Johnson placed her finger on the cast, traced the letter "M", and pointed at herself. This was some Tarzan-level communication shit, but Alex felt that she was less fascinated by the accomplishment than pissed off at the invasion of her privacy. Which had taken place in her sleep, no less.

The scuttling mass of brown and blue uniforms poured into the corridor right on cue and, like a tide, swooped her away to wherever she was supposed to go. Everything was still pretty new to her, and yet, prison being prison, the number of possible variations was limited. She traversed the common hall like a ship dodging icebergs, keeping a respectable distance between herself and the different clusters of women.

One thing that was clear to her was that she had no intention of aligning herself with any one group or any one person if she could help it, for however long was her stay – which nobody had bothered to inform her of, or if she was going to be transferred at all. It was becoming relatively easy to think of herself as a raindrop that had fallen in the ocean. Good as gone; vanished.

There was nothing she could do to prevent those miserable thoughts from creeping up to the forefront of her brain, but most of the time she managed to push through them. It was but a twisted truth. For all her determination to keep to herself and think of herself as an individual who was alone, there was a bunch of people she cared for to some degree. Although it was more the result of a continued friction between them, they did have some sort of bond. Nothing like concealing a body, hiding out in a bunker, and sharing two near-death experiences, right? They should try it at family therapy. And couples therapy.

She was now completely disconnected from them, yes, but she hoped that the powers that be had kept that group united – or at least that Piper was with Red and Nicky. Frieda's resourcefulness couldn't hurt either. And Mendoza was sharp-eyed, with a great don't-fuck-with-me attitude. Alex needed to trust that they would keep Piper safe despite herself; despite her being such a weather vane.

No matter how isolated she was -and tried to be-, Alex had to assume that she was being watched – at the very least, evaluated. Even those who were cracking jokes or apparently absorbed in conversations had to be surveying their surroundings. Eyes darted everywhere, in all directions, and attempting to dodge those invisible darts was but a chimera. All she could do was demonstrate that she was not a force to be reckoned with, and didn't aspire to become one.

Alex reached what she guessed was the place they were allowed to go out during rec time, but this was no yard. It was a sort of patio surrounded by washed-out vanilla walls, so tall that it could hardly be considered as being outside. A bit of sunshine did trickle down from overhead, but the place was too crowded for the light to reach the floor. The basketball hoop in the corner was like a bad joke, as were the soccer goals painted on the walls. One would never be able to make enough room to play here.

Finding a spot wasn't an easy task. A hundred eyes scanned her from head to toe as she walked around, but the buzz of a myriad conversations never diminished. The words "NO EXCESSIVE NOISE" were printed on each of the walls and, accordingly, nobody was raising their voice. But the simple accumulation of so many bodies created a steady drone. The fact that there was a handful of guards posted close to the doors didn't make her feel any safer. She had the feeling that fatalism reigned here; if something was arranged to go down, it would -quickly and efficiently-, before any of the COs would notice, let alone prevent it.

A slipper scraped against the uneven floor tiles immediately next to her, and Alex faced the person at once; not hastily, so as not to alarm anyone, but aiming to show that her senses were acute. However, Alex didn't expect to recognize her. To her own vexation, she had forgotten she knew that Stella was in max. That Piper had in fact sent her there.

"I thought that was you." Stella leaned against the wall with a tiny smirk on her face. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Wow," Alex said, crossing her right arm over her chest and looking away. "I must have been a mass murderer in a past life because karma is really riding my ass."

"Okay..." The girl took a minuscule step back. Space being the most coveted element in prison, an additional inch of separation was a lot. "Just wanted to say hi."

"No offense, but it's not like we know each other, so why would you?"

She was treating Stella more as an extraneous inconvenience than as a person with whom it was possible to interact, and that policy of remaining at a prudent distance from everything was all she could do to be unaffected and not let herself despair. This was not a nightmare or a bad trip she was going to simply snap out of and get returned to the upturned bucket of the power shovel with the night sky above and Piper beside her. And, taking into account that she was longing for a dirt home in a prison yard, it was setting the bar pretty low – and still as insurmountable as the wildest fantasy.

Stella's grin tightened, giving the impression that it was concealing a bigger smile underneath. "Everyone knows you."

That got her attention. Alex begrudgingly faced the girl and straightened up so she could look down at her a little bit. "What the hell does that mean?"

Offering a shrug as an answer, Stella then jerked her head towards her cast. "Are you advertising?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're wearing a sign on your arm. Are you buying or selling?"

It took her a second to make the connection between the name on her cast and a moniker for MDMA. Alex glanced down at her arm -the green ink glistening in natural light- and let out a derisive snort. "Molly is spelled with a 'y', you illiterate marsupial. This is just a name."

"Oh. So you've moved on. From Piper, I mean. Cool. If you ask me, she did us both dirty."

Shaking her head incredulously, Alex refrained from taking the bait – provided that it was a bait. She had no interest in countering that Stella had stolen Piper's money or in flushing out any of that past bullshit. There was no point; no real vindicated victors. One had to speculate about that unbearable idiot's intentions, though; if that whole interaction had been out of boredom or loneliness, if she was merely looking for drugs, or had an ulterior motive.

"Look, leave me alone. Go cruise somewhere else." Alex said, her voice full of vitriol.

"All right, I'm going, keep your hair on."

With that, Stella finally reintegrated into the homogeneous crowd, and Alex started glancing at the women around as subtly as she was able. Were they contemplating her as a piece of meat? In an insane world, that was the better option. Was this your basic prison triage or something else? The conversation had been decidedly unsettling -in which the girl's strange claim that everybody knew her stood out-, but Alex wasn't sure if her own anxiety was coloring it more intensely. Was it known that she came from the riot?

As for what Johnson -or Mollie- had done to her, she didn't know what to make of it. It could be a possessive branding, bordering on a slightly freaky token of friendship. Or it could be the only way she was capable of answering Alex question, for Alex had indeed asked her her name when she was desperately trying to get the woman to release her leg. Also -however questionable it was to invade another prisoner's space-, Mollie had just done what what one was supposed to do with casts, traditionally, which was to sign them.

Alex returned to the common hall and paused before the imposing skeletal staircase. There was a tunnel-like corridor created by the side of the stairway and the wall, which was where all the payphones were located. It didn't surprise her to see that the coming and going of people was busy here as well, but the women who caught her eye were the ones standing still. Of course someone was policing the phones. The CO posted there -who was absentmindedly picking her nails-, was plainly maintaining the illusion of safety, whereas the real order was clearly being administered by a crew of inmates.

They had obviously taken notice of Alex lingering at the entrance of the corridor, but she knew that they wouldn't engage her unless she fully crossed into their demesne. Not that there was anybody she could call, and that was her main problem – the secondary one being that she would have to pay the crew in some way before they even let her touch one of the receivers. She could only hope -and that already irked her immensely, for it made her feel useless- that the illumination flare she'd fired into the night managed to have some effect.

* * *

This place was worse than stepping into a yogurt shop. After having spent so long inside a dimly lit refuge, the pure white, strident illumination of the hospital was dazzling. However, one had to be thankful for having been taken to the emergency room at all, she guessed. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, for the first time aware of how tired she really was. Devoid of adrenaline, her limbs felt heavy, and her body awakened to pain once again.

The doctor, who had just slipped from behind the curtain, was standing in front of her. "So, can you tell me what happened to your arm?"

"Which one?" Alex chuckled despite herself, glancing at either side of her body. Her injured arm was resting limply on a metal side table, and the other was handcuffed to the stretcher. "Both have long stories to tell."

The man, with the usual arm's length politeness of doctors, didn't humor her attitude. "Your left arm."

"Well, my bet is that it's broken, but you tell me."

When that didn't garner a reaction either, Alex shut up as he examined her and talked about X-rays. Was she supposed to inform him that a giant oaf had snapped her arm like a twig? She thought about the moment the officers had rushed her out of the prison, how it looked like a high school building after everyone has left for summer vacation: empty, and all the more hollow because it's full of stuff people have left behind. Where had they taken all the inmates? And where would the swimming pool group go, including herself?

Her eyes wandered to the doctor's name tag, which wasn't unlike the ones they had to wear. In his picture, though, he was smiling, which was a big difference with those clipped to the inmates. When she noticed the name, typed in all caps, she froze, instantly losing all of her defensive cheekiness. She then inspected his face, looking for a resemblance. Maybe in the smile he was wearing in the picture?

"Are you Daniel Chapman?" she asked, dumbly, just proving that she knew how to read.

Accordingly, he didn't look up at her. "Uh, yes. Why?"

"Danny Chapman." Alex stressed the shortened name because that was all she knew – the way his family called him and that he was a doctor. Piper had never mentioned much else about him.

"Do I know you?"

It felt like it was the first time he was truly paying attention to her. She saw him examine what she was wearing -which of course weren't her clothes-, and then his eyes jumped to her face, her broken arm, and lastly, to her handcuffed wrist.

"I'm in prison with Piper. Or was, I'm not sure what's going to happen..." she lowered her eyes, trying to put her thoughts in order. "You do know there was a riot, right?"

"Yes." He was dumbfounded and he didn't know the half of it.

"I'm Alex. I've known your sister for a long time. We're actually..." she let her voice trail off and dissolve into a grin. Piper had always kept the two halves of her life completely apart, and their relationship had been like a big secret for years. How much did this person really know about his own younger sister? "You need to talk to Piper. You gotta find out where she's going – or tell Carol to tell her that I'm okay."

Danny simply stared at her. "Who are you to my sister?"

The curtain parted and the guard poked his head inside. He had probably heard too much talking on her part, or too excitedly to be chatting about broken bones.

Alex sighed heavily and shook her head, smiling. "Oh, man… You're not believing me anyway. I'm your future sister-in-law."


	3. Ripple effect

The upcoming visiting hours always radiated across the prison not unlike the rumbling of a still remote but approaching earthquake. The effects of those vibrations were nevertheless varied; the whole spectrum of emotions stirring inside one hermetic pressure cooker with barbed wire around it. The anticipation was as contagious as mass hysteria, with gaggles of inmates flocking to get their hair and faces done, and others -all of a sudden feeling self-conscious by comparison- struggling to find a last-minute spot. There was a palpable fear in wanting to look nice, even after going through auto body repair and paint shop. But there were plenty of other types of fear that were less superficial. Would their relatives come at all? Would they bring their children this time or deem it an insalubrious atmosphere for them? Would their children want to come – or even remember who they were? Would their visitors consciously or unconsciously make them feel increasingly dead to the world outside? Would they get caught during the transfer of some unauthorized item?

And then there was the other side: those who never got visitors and were periodically reminded that no one in the real world cared if they stayed inside forever. Those women went through the Kübler-Ross model like wildfire, where acceptance was passive-aggressive envy – and not always very passive. This was a pot that could boil impromptu despite being watched.

Piper was no stranger to some of those emotions, but she had a mission. Being focused in the midst of such uncertainty was decidedly peculiar. This was not the sort of chilly serenity she had displayed in the past, the layer of ice functioning as containment for her true distress, a protective coping strategy she had no doubt inherited from her family. This wasn't like the steely resolve without which she couldn't have left Alex in Paris or framed Maria for the illegal panty business. She didn't need to be devoid of feeling anymore in order to have clarity, and that was alleviating.

The problem with covering some jumbled mix of thoughts and feelings with something else -be it Solomonic determination, the voluntary blindness of a Stepford wife, or numbing doses of alcohol- was that you ended up carrying the weight of those things on your shoulders anyhow. Nothing got solved or eliminated; it just accumulated in the background and one became used to being a weightlifter.

She had dreamed of Alex again, but this time, not in the distorted pandemonium in the pool where Piper had to see her being taken away from her over and over through watery eyes. It also wasn't the Slasher movie scene of Alex wrapped in duct tape and plastic like a present for a serial killer, first screaming and then groaning in pain. Sometimes, Piper's rage was such that it materialized from her dream persona to her real body, and she woke up with her hands so tightly wrapped into fists -gripping nothingness- that afterwards her fingers bothered her all day long.

In this dream, rescued from some distant memory, Alex's glorious body was bathed in radiant droplets of water and sunshine. And Piper, with squinted eyes, barely knew where to look. She was seeing so much skin all at once that it overwhelmed her, for having sex in complete nakedness in prison was as rare as doing it horizontally. One could only get snippets of time and flashes of vision, if at all, but here there was no rush and there were no spies. Her back sunk on the welcoming white sand -trillions of shiny, minuscule rocks- as Alex's pale figure descended upon her, inundating the scope of her eyesight. The striking colors of her tattoos, made even brighter by being wet, jumped at Piper, and she couldn't help but smile at how excited and in awe she was at the same time. Then Alex smiled, first with her eyes, and then with her lips; the sweet, enamored smile of contentment. For what appeared to be a long time, Piper could see nothing else apart from that smile as her body was sucked into the sand little by little.

As soon as it had started to dawn on her that she was dreaming, however, it all started to gasify -everything but the squashy sensation constraining her body-, no matter how hard she feigned ignorance. Drained out of the dream, Piper became worried that she would open her eyes to find her bunkmate on top of her like that psycho Mazall had done at the detention center in Chicago. Luckily, that wasn't the case. There was no one there; it was just the beat down mattress insisting on swallowing her like quicksand.

Contrary to the general majority of women busying themselves with their appearance and/or inner turmoil, Piper was exclusively in waiting mode. She found Nicky at a mostly empty table, slouched over her tray and picking at her breakfast.

"How are you?" Piper smiled kindly at her scruffy friend, even though she wasn't looking at her and wouldn't notice.

"Hey, Chapman. Well..." she was concentrated on dissecting an Eggo with her plastic knife, deconstructing it into a pile of little squares. "What's supposed to be warm is cold, and what's supposed to be cold is hot. How do you figure they do it?"

It was fairly characteristic of Nicky to give off a jovial attitude in the face of dire circumstances. Nevertheless, this was better than detachment and doing a vanishing act for most of the day. It wasn't far-fetched to imagine that she was suffering, and covering it up by avoiding to hang out with those brought in from Litchfield in favor of autochthonous distractions. When Piper had started commenting on certain differences between this place and Litchfield, Nicky had simply rolled up the short sleeves of her new uniform and said, in a disregarding manner: "A prison is a prison is a prison."

"Is your mom coming today?"

"My mother," Nicky pushed back a chunk of hair from her forehead. "is probably in a counselor's office, giving them hell."

"I didn't mean Red."

"Oh, I know," Nicky said, brightly – and sardonically. "I just hoped we could gracefully ignore my fucked up gene pool."

"Haven't you told her you're here?"

"Give it a rest, will you? Get it into your head that not everyone gives a shit about other people."

Piper chewed slowly, creating a pause. "What about Lorna?"

There was no real change in Nicky's bored and grumpy expression, but she slung a leg over the seat and got up, taking her tray with her. "You know what? I'm outta here."

The few women who were sitting there remained an attentive audience after Nicky huffily left, perhaps to reap some reaction on Piper's part, for other people's business was the main entertainment, akin to a soap opera; it offered much-needed drama without consequence. But Piper got up and strolled off without giving them anything, curious as they were about the Litchfield bunch that had come from a riot. Her mind was too busy to be preoccupied with how she unintentionally kept driving Nicky away with her eagerness and refusal to accept the situation. She might as well go queue up for the naked squat and cough routine before the line got unbearably long and the visiting area was full, for the rated capacity of this facility was much larger than Litchfield's.

One had to wonder if Alex would mock her for going off on another crusade, with some pointed remark about how she just couldn't help herself. Piper would often have imaginary arguments like that with the Alex that was stored in her brain because she found she missed the real ones. More than missed them, in fact; she had already determined a long time ago that those challenging discussions were good for her. However exasperating that give-and-take could be, particularly through the filter of Alex's sarcasm, Piper ultimately believed that it played a role in keeping her grounded. Not that Alex was always successful – she was able to admit that much. But she was convinced that what was driving her now was different, in that it wasn't an extraneous cause, but thoroughly braided with the personal. This was as much about Alex as it was about her, as well as about the unit that they had become.

This was the first weekend she was allowed to have visitors, as she'd pestered her assigned counselor to no avail. Being a new arrival, there was an adaptation process one was supposed to go through beforehand, as if she hadn't been in prison for a year. It was therefore the first time she was stepping foot in that room, and it was quite similar to Litchfield's. It looked like your basic high school cafeteria, complete with vending machines and diverse warning signs and notices – although, no doubt, of a more serious nature than "Please bus your tray" and "Help keep this lunchroom clean". The main difference was that this visiting area had a decal or mural of a forest taking up one of the walls, which she guessed was used as a backdrop for pictures.

As she was processed into the visiting area, Piper forced her body not to hurry, delegating the job to her eyeballs, which bounced across the room until they located the woman. Instead of sat at one of the tables, she was handing a bag of chips to another visitor, a woman of similar age. Piper paced towards her and only allowed herself some effusiveness in the hug, where it was allowed.

"Darling!" her mother exclaimed in an undertone, with the usual subdued gust of affectation that was reserved for any sort of emotion. "How _are_ you?"

"I'm fine, mom."

They sat down at opposite sides, and Piper placed her elbows on the table and her hands before her mouth like a child praying before bedtime. She told her mother that she had been so scared during the last throes of the riot, but that she had come out of it okay, and how much she appreciated her presence there, that she had no idea. Carol shrugged it off, of course -without doing anything as vulgar as shrugging-, claiming that she was only doing what any decent mother should. And then, as expected, went off on a tangent to inform her that the dark green color of her uniform suited her much better than Litchfield's khaki.

At least she wasn't commenting on how haggard she looked, which was no little thing, considering. Piper's mental priorities had been elsewhere; specifically, on trying to make this visit happen and then waiting for it as patiently as she could. And, now that she was in it, her mind was racing in search of an opportunity to deliver the important news and the more crucial instructions.

"Mommy! Daddy!" someone called out, with unabashed joy.

Piper glanced over to the neighboring table, where Suzanne was hugging the older lady Carol had given that small bag of chips, and the man accompanying her.

"Now, now, Suzie." the woman was patting her gently on the back to calm her down, but sounded considerably choked up herself.

"Is that girl one of your prison-friends?"

"Um." Piper struggled both with what to say and how to say it, but chose to answer in the affirmative, judging by the thing they had gone through together inside the pool. This was one of the few times she had actually seen Suzanne since their arrival, for she had been placed in a different block together with Taystee and Black Cindy, so their schedules weren't always the same.

It turned out that both their mothers had become friendly during the riot. Common suffering and cohabitation behind a police line could foster just as unlikely comradery as that which sprung between bars on the other side of the mirror as it were, Piper mused.

Carol was now praising this facility, which, taking into account that it was a maximum security prison, was a bit nicer than Litchfield, and a world apart from the detention center in Chicago. But that wasn't the issue now, Piper wanted to say, hearing the echo of Nicky's mantra in her mind: "A prison is a prison is a prison".

Apparently, there was a statue of a mother and a child at the entrance -the boy holding her hand, the mother waving, frozen in greeting-, which Piper hadn't seen, for it had been pitch-dark when they were bused in. That her mother had zoned in some stony, idyllic image of motherhood, taken in her stride the layer upon layer of fences crowned by loopy barbed wire and a watchtower full of heavily armed guards said something of her attitude. Perhaps there had been a switch, and Carol had reached acceptance. Proper acceptance, in lieu of it being a false, WASPy façade of political correctness where agitation was strongly frowned upon. And that tacit understanding between them was important too.

"Mom, we need to talk." The quality of the correctional facility was but a trifle. She would sleep in a hole in the ground; she would hunt for slow cockroaches again, smuggle them in her bra and train them to transport cigarettes for all she cared. "You have to do something for me. And I need to tell you something."

"I know, dear."

"You know that there's something I need to tell you?" she asked, slightly baffled.

Her mother straightened up in her seat and then leaned closer to her, which was a rarity. "No, honey, I know what it is you want to tell me. It's about Alex, isn't it?"

Growing more confused, Piper frowned, but pushed through it, with the urgency claiming the spotlight. "I don't know where she is, mom, you have to find her. Go on the Federal Bureau of Prisons website or whatever it's called. I don't know her ID number, but her name is Alex Vause. Alex Pearl Vause."

The careful utterance of her name, like a pirate polishing the coins in her treasure, took her back to the moment of her proposal – one of the most genuine instances of clarity of her entire life. And to the open-eyed resolve which led her from the phone call with Carol near Litchfield's main entrance to the restroom -where Piscatella had kidnapped them from a heavenly shower in hell- to retrieve Alex's glasses, through the riot's miasma, and back to the bunker. This was her treasure -this person-, this was her will to stay alive.

"I need her, mom." That much had been clear for quite some time. After all she had needed her enough to put her back in prison, and she could lie to herself -and she _had_ lied to herself- about having non-selfish reasons for having done that. But now apart from her own need, there was that unflinching clarity about the two of them being together. And there was something else. "And I need to know that she's okay. I have a bad feeling, and I don't know if that's just because I miss her. You have to get through to her somehow. I don't think they'll allow me to write to her. We need to figure something out."

She pressed her fingers to her eyes, and it was like squeezing the tears out. She was getting worked up in a way she had refrained from doing the prior weeks, and she wasn't sure if her mother would tolerate that. Surprisingly, Carol laid her arm out with the palm of her hand turned upwards, crossing the table's invisible middle ground, and Piper immediately put her hand on top of hers, grasping it. The gesture was a far cry from the usual ways in which they interacted with each other, and she was so thankful for it that it almost tasked like relief. Comfort. Which was an alien emotion to link to a member of her family. Before that, she had only felt that with Alex, really, so this was bizarre, but definitely rewarding.

"Oh, honey, I don't want you to put yourself through such a turmoil. Of course you're worried about her well-being, but I'm sure that Alex is fine." There was a pause. "Isn't she a drug trafficker?"

Two steps forward, one step back. Piper sighed in frustration and detached her hand from her mother's, all of a sudden seeking physical distance, on par with the emotional one. Was she implying that Alex would feel right at home in prison?

"Mom, I'm serious. Besides, I'm a felon too, you know."

"What I mean to say is that she's probably quite a resilient person. I will certainly do everything in my power. Now listen to me. I know that Alex is fine – at least she was a few weeks ago."

"What?"

"I received a very strange phone call from your brother."

"What does Cal have to do with it?"

"Not Cal, dear. Danny."

"I'm sorry, what? _Danny_? Isn't he out there saving the world? Or at least in South America?"

"No, dear, he's back. You'd think he would come home and visit with his mother, but it seems that I have to learn about my children's lives in the most questionable ways."

She was obviously making a reference to her disclosing that her freewheeling, world-hopping days had in fact transpired in the context of a tempestuous romance with a woman who was a drug dealer, and that she had only confessed because she was going to prison. And Cal had indeed married Neri at their grandmother's funeral, of all occasions. And she had told her family that she had a girlfriend in prison -not even specifying that it was the same woman who had swept her away when she was twenty-three- as some childish, knee-jerk reaction to their uptightness, by reenacting the orgasm scene from 'When Harry Met Sally', which was so inappropriate that it earned her a slap from Carol, queen of the unflinching countenance. At least Danny, the golden son, was finally getting some disapproval.

"Mom, get back on track, I'm begging you."

"Well, your brother told me that he examined a woman with a fracture in her arm the night your prison riot ended."

"It wasn't _my_ riot, mom. Although I did try to help to-" she shook her head. "Nevermind! Danny _saw_ her?"

"He described her as a white woman with dark hair who wore glasses." Her mother was speaking as if she were trying to remember something that she had written down. Which she probably had. Slowly – too slowly, like the proverbial person in a theater who turturously peels of the wrapping of a caramel so as not to disturb everyone, but one ends up cringing with every crinkle. "Is that what she looks like? Well, I suppose it could be worse. Does she look like any of your grade-school teachers?"

"Mom, will you please stop psychoanalyzing me?"

Sidestepping her mother's relief about Alex not being the bull dyke stereotype she had conjured in her strait-laced brain, one had to at least question if she was being obtuse on purpose.

"She did say that her name was Alex. And she recognized Danny – or his name, and asked him to contact me."

In spite of everything, Piper realized that she was smiling, were it due to Alex's memory, her cleverness, or the simple fact of learning some much-needed news about her. The way the universe doggedly refused to split them completely apart, no matter how many factors conspired against them, played a part in her smile as well. It made her think about that night years ago when she drunk-dialed Alex and ended up leaving her a rambling voicemail she never even listened. Piper remembered using the dual purpose words "Shalom" and "Aloha", which she regarded as incredibly apt for them. No drastic farewell and no physical or temporal distance between them could ever aspire to be final.

"Apparently, she made some outlandish claims about you, Piper. She said she was his future sister-in-law? Do I really need to learn from your brother that this girl intends to marry you?"

Piper opened her eyes wide and bit her lower lip, partly because she was busted, and partly because this wasn't how she thought the announcement would happen.

"Jesus, Alex." she muttered under her breath, but then a curious grin of pride formed on her lips.

At first glance, it could be that Alex had thought she needed to say something impactful enough to get through to Danny to ensure that the ripple effect would reach Carol and then Piper herself. Still, knowing that she'd use the term "future sister-in-law" and hearing the word "marry" come out of her mother's mouth made her heart swell. With all her might, she hoped that Alex didn't doubt her anymore, that her developed sense of self-protection didn't tell her that she would fail her and leave her alone again, because that wasn't going to happen.

Quickly, for she felt that they were running out of time, Piper told her mother that she had been the one to propose after their conversation over the phone, that she had in fact replicated her father's grand gesture, bringing Alex her lost glasses and even handing her canned goods as a symbol. She was glad to get a glimpse of Carol's expression softening. However going-through-the-motions-esque her marriage had been for many years, it seemed that that memory would always be heart-stopping to her. This was her mother at her most human – that Piper could remember, of course, maybe since she was very little. The socialite barrier was down.

"You need to tell her that I'm okay, and that her family's okay too."

"Oh, honey, I'm sure her family will be able to visit her wherever she is."

"No, mom... She has no one outside. I mean us. Her friends. She acts like it doesn't matter to her, but I know she cares."

They were telling them to wrap it up, that visiting hour was over. Hugging her mother more tightly than when she'd first seen her, Piper repeated Alex's full name. It was important to communicate that this was more than just having someone "in there" to make her sentence more bearable.

"Well, my daughter's engaged… again," Carol said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "That should count for something. There must be something we can do."

She and Alex had played the security blanket, temporary relief card in the past, for it was the safer option in the face of a future so distant and uncertain that it was invisible. They had been two lonely ships lost at sea that had decided to team up for the rough journey, and the ocean's eternal surface -which was all they could see at all four points of the compass- was the present. But not anymore. Piper knew that together and without doubting each other they could be strong enough to spot the land of a future. It didn't have to be the mouth-watering utopia of her dream, either. And, subsequently, build a life on the common ground between pain and beauty.


	4. Between skin and plaster

The effort of not losing one's mind was tantamount to building a wall to prevent one's nerves from manifesting, containing them under the skin. By all appearances, you weren't moving a muscle – or rather, you were restricting any suspicious twitches to a minimum, because perception was everything; it could condemn you or it could save you. In Alex's case, her only tell was gripping the right cuff of her pants while she sat with her bent legs against her chest.

She wondered if she would ever get used to the sensory overload that this particular place provoked in her, because the constant hiding of her own implosions was frankly exhausting; every evening she dropped on her bunk like she had run a marathon. The option of being alone for one minute was nonexistent, and an absurd thing to hope for. Furthermore, one's chances at escapism were scarce: a book, a person, a substance, or sleep – and Alex could only count on the first and the last. For all she wished to close her eyes now, she refrained from doing it, lest she would be perceived at not being alert. Here, you had to daydream with your eyes open and a straight face.

Sitting on the patio floor with her back against the wall, Alex gazed blankly at the brown and blue-specked currents of inmates like one would do with real waves. Anything to dehumanize them. She had been in there long enough to be able to detect any disturbance in those waters, so when she spotted a female CO purposefully cutting through the crowd instead of dawdling around the clusters of women, Alex focused on her without altering her façade. She watched the CO take her hand out of her pocket as she reached an inmate, and pause for a millisecond – an imperceptible action to the untrained eye. However, to Alex, unaccustomed as she'd become to drug-related matters, this wasn't the most discreet of drops.

The inmate in question dragged her foot and then ducked quickly, pretending to pull up her sock, even though it was clear as day that she was concealing whatever the guard had dropped in her vicinity. When the woman straightened up and pushed away her bangs with a heavily tattooed hand, Alex was unsurprised to see that it was Stella. Moreover, she remained unaffected by the whole thing, merely following Stella with her eyes as she slowly walked into the building. Alex had never questioned the laws of supply and demand, and still didn't.

She ended up returning to the common hall, seeking to switch one kind of racket for a different one, which was all one could do when the absence of noise wasn't a possibility. Yet somehow, the commotion inside was worse and, when Alex realized her mistake, it was too late for her to go anywhere. The tumult flourished around her and behind her, transporting her like the audience of a concert. She had dared to go indoors in the middle of mail call, which was only second place to visiting day if one had to list the things that got everyone worked up the most.

The CO who was calling out names from inside a window seemed to have accepted a long time ago that commanding those women to settle down was ineffectual. They would only quit pawing at him when there was no mail left to deliver. Compressed by an expectant mass -which was worse than an ordinary mass, because hope made people squirm more-, Alex protected her arm and raised her eyes to the ugly ceiling, resigned to wait this out as stoically as she could. Which, incidentally, was all she did all day every day.

"Vause!" The voice resounded in the hall, more distinctly than with every other name because of how astounded she was to hear it. "Alex Vause!"

There had to be a better system to deliver mail than this; for instance, actually delivering it. Using her elbows as well as her considerable height, Alex shoved her way to the window and pointed at her name tag. It couldn't be legal documents, for those weren't opened for review – the inmate herself had to open them, with some guard looking over her shoulder, of course. What the CO handed her -right before shooing her away- was a white, regular-sized envelope.

Alex couldn't look down to find out who it was from without risking a full-on collision, so she concentrated on getting away from the bulk of the mass. Reaching the intimidating, ribcage-shaped staircase, she sat on one of the steps and flattened the envelope against her thigh. Finally, she was able to read the name which was neatly written on the upper, left hand corner: "Caroline Chapman".

"Holy shit." she murmured to herself, like an idiot. It had worked. Or _something_ had worked. Her fingertips fumbled with the frayed fringe of the envelope and extracted a folded sheet of paper through the opening. Not that she expected to get a five-page letter, which was the maximum quantity they allowed.

What little she knew about Piper's mother had, naturally, always been secondhand information, but she had deemed those broad strokes more than enough to have her all figured out. In order to mock someone accurately, you had to know them to a certain degree and, after all, a great part of Alex's old job depended on her being a good judge of character. She was sure that Carol knew far less about her, which had sometimes stung her a little bit in the past, unwilling as she was to admit it. And she had realized that precisely by contrast: by comparing it to how happy she'd been to learn that Piper had called her her girlfriend in front of her family. She had kept that peculiar feeling of joy under wraps by labeling it "a bold move" and then teasing Piper until she couldn't take it any longer, which was her usual course of action.

Then everything had gone to hell yet again, and _she_ had been through hell. And here they were now, after another spin of the wheel. How did the saying go? Lovers never met – they were doomed to keep finding each other from the start. Something like that.

Inhaling deeply, Alex unfolded the letter, which was written in cursive.

 _Dear Alex,_

 _I'm sure you know who I am; it's good to know that Piper has mentioned her family._

 _I hope you're feeling okay and that you're not in any pain. You did give my son quite a scare, but he's a wonderful doctor._

 _As you can imagine, I'm writing you on behalf of Piper to let you know that she's perfectly fine, as are your friends – your family, as I've been told to call them. Unfortunately, I don't think I can disclose much about them or where they are. The online research I've done before sitting down to write this recommended not to pass along certain information if I didn't want my letter to get intercepted._

 _Suffice it to say that I've been to see Piper, and she's made it very clear how important you are to her – apparently, enough to propose to you. I sincerely hope you feel the same about her, because I'm going to do everything I can to help you, a perfect stranger, for my daughter's sake._

It concluded with a polite farewell wishing her a full recovery and, more importantly, with the inclusion of a phone number, which made Alex raise her eyebrows. The overall tone was gracious enough – not exceedingly warm, but who the hell expected that, when the only warmth known to those people was that of sipping bourbon in front of a fireplace? There was no mention of having been the one to land her daughter in prison, so at least there was that.

But she was being specious and harsh and she knew it. She was in her head, hiding from feeling stuff. If she directed her attention southward, she had to acknowledge that her heart was racing, for a myriad reasons. First and foremost, because Piper was all right and her mother had been able to visit her. Secondly, because it seemed that their friends were okay and with Piper -wherever she was-, although there was no way of knowing how many of them had made the cut and who might have been sent elsewhere. Against all expectations, she was now part of a conglomerate of misfits, and it was obvious that Piper had dubbed them her family quite intentionally.

Another thing that affected Alex -as well as intrigued her- was the part that said that she would do all she could to help her. She had no clue of what anyone could do about this shitty situation. Nevertheless, as amusing as it was to picture Piper's mom going online to find out the do's and don'ts about corresponding with an inmate, she'd been smart not to divulge too much. Evidently, by writing her a letter and basically promising to be there for her, Carol was merely following what Piper had asked her to do – probably very insistently. Still, in order to achieve that, Piper must have conveyed both a sense of urgency and of seriousness about her. She must have also confirmed Alex's assertion that they were indeed engaged.

Alex had to bite her lower lip to hide a tiny smile that was fighting to emerge. Despite everything, she was starting to feel giddy. In such a place, even the hint of new developments was earthshattering. She was also kind of proud of Piper. It wasn't often that she dared to try out words like "future wife" in her mind, especially in a sincere manner: she tried them on as cautiously as a pair of brand new shoes, walking around with them for short periods of time to break them in. But mainly, she was feeling less lonely. Which was a lot.

Perhaps it was time to update her call list, Alex mused, which would pose a subsequent problem. But her mother hadn't raised her to be an ungrateful asshole.

* * *

That Carol's letter had made her feel better was a given. The main thing was that it had made her feel less lonely, but it also had been the punch in the gut she needed – it had provided the crack in the door she needed to quit vegetating and do something. Right now, making that phone call meant everything to her. In a mostly meaningless atmosphere, she now had a small goal, a small purpose. Although that it was small didn't exactly imply that it was simple.

With Caroline Chapman's number committed to memory, Alex paused at the foot of the staircase and leaned on its handrail. She could see the elongated shadows of each of the steps, projecting cage-like bars on the wall, obscuring the payphones. Moreover, she could see the figures of those standing guard; it was futile to try to get there earlier than them, and they would catch her anyway.

Swallowing any exterior signs of anxiousness, she walked into the darkness-striped corridor enough to make her intentions known. There were five or six women spread out over their domain, and they all turned to look at her in unison. After a beat, a short girl wearing a high ponytail and a cheeky grin approached her.

"Morning! How can I help you?" she asked, with the phony cheerfulness of an underpaid employee.

"I just want to make a phone call."

"You came to the right place," her tone was so chipper that Alex no longer believed that it was fake. This girl liked her job. "Now, what can you give me in return?"

It was futile to argue or to claim that she had a right to use the phones. In prison, if something was significant, it surely had a price. Two other women inched closer to them, but not enough to make it a conversation of three -called a party line-, which was surely discouraged by the guards in such a semi-hidden area.

"Just tell me what you want, okay?"

"Alright, alright, Specs. There's no hurry, we're all friends here," she made an encompassing gesture with her hands. "I'm Neti, what's you name?"

"I'm Vause," she said, not being in the mood for a first name basis.

Neti gave her the once-over with that grin fixed on her face. Her eyes lingered on Alex's left arm. "Right. Oh, I know who you are! You're the one from up the hill who got her arm broke by that screw."

Alex bit the inside of her cheek, cursing her own ostensible notoriety. Max being down the hill from the regular Litchfield camp, it seemed that who she was and where she came from was generally known.

"Look, they give me Ibuprofen every day, for the arm." she offered, wishing to change the topic and get back on track.

"Pfft!" Neti blew a raspberry, sending a spray of spit into the air. "That won't buy you no phone call! All I gotta do to get some Ibuprofen is bash someone's head in and send them to medical."

"What then?"

"What you can do for me, though… Our delivery girl is on vacation in seg, so it's your lucky day."

Delivery girl. Alex knew exactly what she meant. This was a very different animal than minimum security indeed. "Are you kidding me? I'm in here for doing exactly the same shit you're doing now. No way."

"Even better! We got ourselves an expert." There was a chorus of hyena-like giggles. "Listen, Vause, I'm not telling you to pack your rabbit, you know."

Being someone who had already stored a set of keys in her twat, Alex wasn't looking forward to repeating that experience, even if what they wanted her to transport was far more ergonomic.

"I'm just saying, take advantage of what you got." Neti wagged her eyebrows at Alex's cast.

It was unwillingly that an old muscle reflex in her brain gave her the answer. Tie the little plastic bags to a string, like Christmas lights, slip them in between skin and plaster, and then simply pull them out one by one. She started shaking her head, but then the scene she had spotted between the guard and Stella came to mind. Convinced as she was of refusing to do that, she had to wonder out loud if it would be even more questionable to meddle in a CO's business.

"Who's buying it direct from the screws?" For the first time, Neri's grin evaporated, and her expression got considerably scarier, for their middleman operation was being squashed.

"Nevermind." Alex shrugged and started turning away. As much as she loathed that junkie dingo, she wasn't going to rat her out, however much she thirsted for more up to date news from Piper.

"That could be worth a short phone call." the girl leaned over to the closest payphone and lifted the black receiver, practically dangling it before her eyes.

Alex repressed a sudden bout of anger. In her mind, she was snatching the receiver from Neri's hand and smashing it in her face. There were other -irritatingly slower- ways, like writing Carol back. She backed away from the payphone and those women, and when she was almost out of the shadowy corridor, she heard Neri's voice, with that cheery tone.

"See you soon, Vause! Good luck buying stamps!"


End file.
